Falling
by MarkMeContest
Summary: Leaves fall, raindrops fall, even tears fall. But not me. I never fall.


Mark Me One-Shot Contest

Title**:** Falling

Pen Name**:** luvtwilight4eva

**Characters:** Edward & Bella

**Disclaimer: **The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary**:**Leaves fall, raindrops fall, even tears fall. But not me. I never fall.

She just happened to come into my garage earlier this afternoon, along with her sister.

Wearing a checkered, yellow mini skirt and white top, and showcasing a body that I wanted to make mine. But she had these big, blue-green eyes that were filled with innocence. _They_ held me back from unleashing my true self onto a girl like her.

I've been in hell since then … and frankly, I don't fucking like it.

Her hair color is all wrong.

_Fuck me if the color isn't the same as that other bitch that ruined my life._

A body so perfect that I knew a God had to exist to make someone this fine. And her eyes screamed purity … eyes like hers I've only seen in my Ma, and the woman that died too soon. But, never on the women that I usually attract.

She forced me to notice her, and that never happens. It's like I have no control.

I don't like it one … damn … bit.

Now, six hours later, and for the first time _ever_ I'm here … doing something I've never done before.

I'm on fucking a 'date'.

I mentally shake my body in disgust.

She has no clue that this is not something I do.

Have never done.

A swift kick to my shin forces my silent, one-way discussion to an end, and draws my attention to the faces of the three people at the table. Seated to my left, is my brother, Jasper Carlisle, who goes by JC; in front of him is one-half of the duo that started this mess, Alice Swan, or as he calls her Allie Cat, and rounding out the table is Allie Cat's sister_._

Isa.

Isa damn Swan.

Also, known as Isabella Swan.

I'm part of this travesty because of my brother, and his need to take Alice on a date. In order to get her to accept, she needed a date for her sister, and guess who was offered up as the sacrificial lamb?

_I only agreed, when he asked, because my mind was still befuddled by her body in that skirt._

That's my story and I'm sticking to it

It has nothing to do with how her quiet beauty drew me in despite my personal, physical requirements of the women that I spend time with. Any other excuse would make me seem like a pussy … and I'm no pussy.

So I'm here now, with the one that's given me a case of blue balls like no one has ever—and I do mean never _ever_—before.

I scowl in her direction.

A normal person's reactions to my scowl would have included a contrite look or a mumbled "sorry" or an "excuse me". But most definitely, the recipient of said scowl would just know enough to leave me alone.

What Isa does when she sees my scowl is different … refreshing … yet, still goddamn annoying because of what _it_ does to me.

She laughs.

Not the cute, behind the hand laugh that I've seen on the big screen when a woman is trying to lure a man by her innocence.

Nor it is the kind of laughter that is pretend.

No, this one, simply from where I'm seated in front of her, comes from her belly. Her shoulders shake. Tears fall from the sides of her eyes and even the motherfucking snort coming from her direction swells my cock up even more.

More so than that white dress she's wearing.

My eyes flit over the dress again. The front hugs her hips; succulently, making me think about placing my hands there, holding her in place while she rides me reverse cowgirl. The back dips so low that I can almost see the top part of her ass crack. Her spine is exposed, and I want to trail my fingertip along the ridges and lick up any sweat that gathers there from our combustive joining.

_A man can imagine, can't he?_

Ever since getting out of my car at the restaurant and seeing her outfit, I have been imagining.

And ever since then, I've been adjusting myself on the sly—and often.

Like I said, the dress is sinful, but when you take in her face, the lack of beguile found in her eyes does more to me than her wicked body in that dress. They beckon me in a way that no one's eyes have ever done before. Their expressiveness makes me wonder what she'll look like early in the morning without any make-up.

As her laughter dies down, I feel four pairs of eyes on me, and I realize they are waiting on me to say something. But, I haven't got a clue what was said, having been distracted by a girl, who on any other occasion, I'd never give the time of day.

"So, how old did you say you were again?" Alice inquires.

I angle my head toward her. "I didn't—"

"He's twenty-four, Allie Cat," the Benedict Arnold who used to be my brother replies.

Alice uses her fork to lightly tap her lips and there's a gleam in her eyes. "And, you," She points her fork at her sister, "will be eighteen in two, short weeks. This is perfect." She dances a little in her chair.

"What's newsworthy isn't my upcoming birthday, but that I'll be going to Vassar in two, short weeks. Now that is perfect."

At the genuine smile that graces her face, I give her my undivided attention. "Vassar College, you don't say?"

Now, I'm really intrigued. _Booty ... er, I mean, beauty and brains. _

"It's nothing," she mumbles, shying away now that I'm giving her all my attention.

To my left, I hear JC's chair scrape against the tiled floor, but I can't look away. I already know that he planned to leave with Alice. Earlier, when they'd left to use the restroom, he'd volunteer my services to drive Isa home. At the time, before the kick to my shin, I'd only perfunctorily agreed.

_Now … now, I definitely want to give her a ride … and not in my goddamn car._

Impulsively, I grab her hand, massaging her fingers. "Where's that ballsy woman who just kicked me because I was being an asshole?" I tease her.

Her head comes up a little as she slowly removes her hand from mine. "She's still here. I don't like to talk about myself, is all."

"You should be proud of your accomplishment. Getting into one of the Seven Sister Schoolsaffiliated with Yale is great," I boast as if I'm the one attending the Ivy League college.

She uses her hand to wave off my compliment. "Yeah. Yeah. Tell me something about yourself?" She spears a piece of asparagus with her fork.

"Not much to tell. I work hard, play even harder, and just met an interesting young lady who refuses to talk about herself."

She eyes me warily, probably deciding on the reaction she'll exhibit. I smile my panty-dropping smile that I've been told I have, which elicits a small smile of her own.

"Here's what we'll do …" She twirls some pasta around her fork, puts it in hermouth, and proceeds to chew.

As she savors the taste, she has the most incredible looking expression on her face. Only word to describe it: orgasmic.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

I fix my face, hating being caught staring like a lovesick fool. "Nothing," I lie, clearing my throat, "You were saying?"

"Oh, yes. We could do a question and answer. One question, one answer," she states, smiling and it's like she has an afterthought, "And, wemust be honest."

I grin at her because she's pointed her fork toward me when she ended her statement. As if I would be anything but honest.

"Well, ladies first,"I gesture good naturedly.

"What's one thing about you that would surprise me?"

I pretend to think about my answer. "I can't ride a bicycle."

She almost sputters her drink. "I'm sorry … what?"

"You heard me."

She recovers and pats the top of my hand as if consoling me. "I'm really sorry to hear about your plight," she squeaks out, giggling.

I momentarily note her eyes sparkle when she giggles. I also feel the softness of her hand, wishing they were wrapped around my cock rather than the fork hovering near her mouth.

_What? _

_Like I said: a__ man can hope, can't he?_

"Your turn. Tell me something that embarrasses you?"

She puts the fork down and looks around the room, lowering her voice. I'm forced to lean in to hear her. Her scent hits me like a two-ton truck.

"I'm blind as a bat. Can't see a thing without these," She pulls out a pair of glasses from her purse, and then, quickly tries put them away.

"Hey, let me see those?" I demand, stretching my hand out. She reluctantly drops them in my waiting palm and begins eating again.

"These are cute."

"Puppies are cute," she mumbles.

"I bet these will look hot on you."

Shit, I'm can't believe I just blurted that out when it should have been kept in my brain.

"They don't really go with my outfit, you know?" she bemoans, taking them back.

"But if you don't put them on, how can you see how drop dead sexy I am?" I boast, leaning back in the chair.

I think she mutters, "A blind person can see that."

We go back and forth a few more times. She tells me about her nervousness about Vassar, and I tell her that I love to sketch, which surprises me because only Ma knows my secret.

I shake my head at the surprising turn of events. I'm actually having a good time.

If this is 'dating', then maybe … I could … possibly do this more often, _I think, _as long as I'm sitting across Isa, that is.

"Oh, my goodness, look at the time."

Shrugging because I really could care less. "You have some place else to be?"

She shakes her head, grinning.

"I'm free and this is fun," I lower my voice, sayingthat last word kind of chafes to admit out loud. "Let's finish our game. It's my turn."

"No, you cheater, it's my turn," she retorts, laughing.

"Whoa … no need for the name calling," I throw my hands in the air. "I never called you blind Bartimaeus, now did I?" I smirk as the laughter dies on her lips.

"And just how do _you_," She emphasizes, throwing me a skeptical look, "know about blind Bartimaeus?"

"What's with the judgmental tone?" I grin. "Can't I know who he was?"

Her eyes squint slightly. "You don't look like you've been anywhere near a church or a Bible. So, I'd be interested to know how you know him."

I haven't been to a church in years.

_Actually since Me-Maw took me to Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem._

"Aww. Who's Me-Maw?"

I hadn't realized I'd slipped again, letting her into my private thoughts.

"No one."

Her tone softens; the teasing tone is gone. "Who is she, Masen?"

"I said no one," I spit out angrily.

"Hey, I'm sorry … you don't have …"

Her hand curl over my fisted one atop the table, and strangely, my anger begins to dissipate.

Looking down at her hand, I wonder what this dark-haired beauty doing to me. "When exactly," I clear my throat of the lump of something lodged there. "Do you leave for Vassar?"

"Um … August twenty-ninth. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." I gently turn our hands over, switching their position, and now I'm rubbing hers.

_That gives me two weeks and a day..._

∞∞∞Falling∞∞∞

**Two weeks later …**

_I don't know what I was thinking._

Slamming down the hood of Alice's Toyota Corolla, I regret allowing myself to be conned into this job. For the past two weeks, I've been ordering parts, calling in favors, and basically giving away my labor for free. The car has a new engine; the oil has been changed; including its filters; and it has a general tune-up.

_I'm beat_.

I've worked non-stop to return her car in a safe, working order. A new car is going to be my recommendation, because this piece of shit, nine-year old model, with more than a hundred thousand miles won't last much longer.

When she picks up it up today, I'll hand over her keys and that's it—no bill for services rendered. I've worked on her car like I'm a pro-bono lawyer. And what have I gotten for my troubles? All I've been getting for my hard work is Alice's & JC's gratitude; when that's _not_ even what I want. If I tell you what I want … but, what the hell do I care what you think of me? I know what I want and it's the _only_ reason why JC thinks _he_ convinced me to work on this car.

I want inside of Isa … there, I said it. And, fuck you if you think I'm a dog.

I'm making an exception to my rule of no brunettes.

I'm doing this because I _have _to have her. Her body in that checkered yellow and white skirt has been plaguing my thoughts … my dreams ever since. The sad thing is: Isa is everywhere except in my reality. I've not seen or heard from her since our 'date', and frankly, I'm a little pissed.

She has me so tightly wound that I can't think straight; eating has become damn near impossible; and, now, she's messing with my mojo.

Last week, I was getting busy with Legs—don't ask me what the hell her name is because I don't know it—and I couldn't seal the deal. I was harder than Chinese fucking math, got Legs off twice, but I still couldn't come. Only when I closed my eyes, imaging a dark-haired girl with aquamarine-colored eyes was I able to seal the deal. _And_, that's never happened to me.

Never.

Accidentally, I'm experiencing a lot of my firsts with Isa: my first date, my first time remembering a girl's name, my first time—dare I admit it—missing someone, and my first time wanting to be with a dark-haired chick.

_This shit is for the birds_ I silently fume heading outside. It was almost quitting time for the guys, and I could hear many of them putting away tools, preparing to leave for the day.

_What to do? What to do?_

JC has picked up on my unspoken desire to hear about Isa, so over the week, he's been dropping hints about her absence. But, really, it's simply bullshit lines Alice tells him.

_Isa is busy_.

_Isa is packing. _

_Isa went to __Manhattan to __meet some alumni group. _

Isa this … Isa that.

I call it all bullshit. I know bullshit when I hear it—hell, Ellie was the biggest bull shitter I knew and I could always tell when she was pulling shit out of her ass to con Me-Maw out of a few bucks. _And_, I wasn't seven damn years old.

I blow out an exaggerated breath, craving a cigarette. A week ago, Carlisle, my adoptive father, made the mistake of calling _me_ an addict—a cigarette addict. I dropped it quickly, vowing to show him I'm not addict.

_Nothing_ controls me.

Well, nothing except this whole Isa situation—my yearning, for some strange reason—to see her makes me really want a loosie, just to calm my damn nerves.

"There he is. I told you he was around here somewhere." I hear the JC's laboring breath as if he's ran a mile looking for me.

Spinning around, to give him a verbal lashing about the mess he's put me in, and yes, I'm blaming him for bringing Isa into my life—I quickly swallow the f bombs I planned on firing at him.

The person standing beside him stops my planned tirade.

We both continue to stare at each other, silently. I know I look filthy, but I see her eyes take on a heated glare as she looks at me from head to toe. She's in another body-hugging skirt, top and a pair of heels that lengthen her legs, while at the same time enhance their muscled definition.

She comes forward, stopping a few inches from me, and I can smell the perfume she's wearing. Through the lenses of her glasses I can see that her eyes lookcontrite.

"Hi." 

I grunt out a response, not because I'm trying to playing it cool—well, that's partly a reason—but more so because I'm tongue-tied seeing her in the glasses. They make her look innocent and sexy at the same time. A combination I've rarely seen orbeen attracted to in the women I associate with.

"Come home with me," I blurt out unexpectedly.

I sound like some thirsty fool who's never been with a woman before.

She takes a step back, as if shocked by my request. I mentally shrug at my idiotic request, blaming it on the glasses that are confounding me.

Thispeople is another first.

If she accepts, she'll be the first woman outside of Ma, to come inside my home.

The more I think about seeing her inside, where I live, the greater I want her to tell me yes.

I take a step closer, not wanting to be overheard.

"Come home with me," I repeat, lowering my voice and praying she gives me the answer I desire.

To my ears, I sound pleading … desperate … borderline, humbling. Three emotions I've rarely exhibited in my twenty-four years.

_What the hell? And only with a goddamn, __lame-ass hi, and a nerdy glasses._

I'll never understand why she nods her head in agreement, but when she does, I reward her with my mile-wide smile that I'm certain the residents in Florida can see.

"Let me freshen up." I move to step past her, but an afterthought stops me. "Can you cook?"

"Nope," she replies, rocking on her heels slightly as if proud of her declaration. The small smile, which I'd never admit that I like, lifts the corner of her lips seductively.

_Another bunch of damn firsts … I'll have my first dinner guest, who isn't a family member, who's also dark-haired, inside my home … that I'll cook __for. _

"Give me thirty minutes. Wait in the front, yeah?" I yell over my shoulder, walking away.

Running up the stairs that lead to the private offices, I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack, and it has nothing to do my sprint-like dash. I'm a ball of nerves, which has never happened to me. Entering the bathroom, I look in the mirror, giving myself a silent pep talk.

_You've got this! _

_Calm the hell down._

_She's just a chick, Mase_.

Unfortunately, none of this works to slow the beats of my heart or kill my raging hard-on.

Stripping out of my clothes, I enter the shower, and let the water beat on my back. Slowly, my breathing becomes regulated. No need to shower with my cock standing at full-mast. So I take matters into my hands as I imagine that my rough fingers are really softer ones that belong to a girl with blue-green eyes.

∞∞∞Falling∞∞∞

"Wow, this taste so good," she tells me, biting into the salmon.

We are currently sitting on my patio. The Hudson River flows miles below us, as well as parts of New Jersey's scenery, completes the breathtaking backdrop to the ambiance I've set up.

"I'm glad you like it." I spear a piece of the broccoli and put it in my mouth.

The smile she's worn since we arrived at my condo is on full display for my enjoyment. "Who taught you to cook?"

Swallowing some mash potato, I use the napkin to wipe the corner of my lips. "Are we going to play question and answer, again?" I wonder, smirking at her.

"Um," she responds, forking another piece of salmon, "If you want to."

"Sure, I'm game." I refill both our glasses with more wine.

There's a gentle breeze today, tempering the warm August evening. The breeze is also blowing Isa's curly tendrils all over her face. A closer look at her hair and I determine that it's more appropriate to describe it as obsidian, than mahogany. I guess the few wisps of hair blowing in her face is becoming bothersome because she takes a black hair tie from her wrist, and right before my eyes, she's now sporting a ponytail.

_I really don't have a clue what she is doing to me._

The littlest things she does captivate me.

I easily overlook her hair color … the one I'd sworn I'd never so much as give a glance at. In all truthfulness, the hair color that I detest on everyone _except_ Isa, is the one thing that reminds me so much, and painfully so, of my drug-addicted, so called mother. And I use the term loosely.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asks quietly.

_Do I tell her she's making me break all my rules? _

_Do I tell her that her mere presence calms __me; __which is a feat only two other women in my life have ever been able to accomplish? _

_Do I tell her that I'm scared shitless by all that I'm feeling in the two weeks she's entered my life?_

Instead of the truth, I deflect, chuckling. "Are you ready to start? Ladies first."

"Okay …" She taps her forefinger on her chin. "What's another thing that would surprise me about you?"

_That's easy_. For this I don't have to lie.

"Besides my Ma, you're the only woman I've had up here."

Instead of responding to me, the disbelief is etched prominently on her face. It makes me want to reassure … convince her I'm not a lying bastard.

"That's the truth. No other bit …" I catch myself, choosing to use a different word. "No one else has been here." I end uncomfortably, because now she'll think she's special … well she is, but I'll never tell her that shit.

Her smile is indescribable.

No, I take that back, her smile is effervescent. I shift in my seat because the smile went straight to my cock, swelling almost painfully. Looking for a distraction, I ask, "What would surprise me about you?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment. The way her faces lights up, I can see the imaginary bulb indicating she has something in mind.

"Don't laugh, okay?" she begs, continuing to smile.

"Scouts honor." I give her the official sign with a smile of my own.

"I suck at math, even though I was in advanced placement calculus."

"That," I inquire, biting my lip to hold in my laughter. "That's what would surprise me? Not that you snore or your shoe size is that of a clown's?" I can't help it … I laugh out loud at her ridiculous 'surprise'.

"Hey," she chokes out through her laughter, throwing the napkin at my head. "I'm sharing here." Her shoulders shake because she's laughing so hard.

As soon as I hear the snort come out of my mouth, I relax even further, and I know I made a good decision—albeit an impulsive one—inviting her.

Wiping away all trace of laughter from my voice, I tell her sincerely, "I'm glad you're here."

She dips her head downward, looking intently at her plate. "Me too."

**Later on in the night …**

Many glasses of wine later, we've moved indoors, sitting companionably on the sofa in front of my fireplace. She graciously offered to do the dishes, since I cooked, but like a gentleman, I declined. We're currently competing with each other over who can tell the corniest knock knock jokes. The winner is determined when the other person laughs at said joke while the loser has to take a shot.

Not realizing how competitive she is, I was only leading by a point with thirteen. All I have left are dirty jokes, hopefully I'll make it to fifteen—which is our cut-off to declare a winner—before I have to resort to those. Win or lose, it is good to watch her eyes light up in such a way that they rival any precious stone in any book I've ever seen.

"Okay, okay," she yells, laughing along the way. "Here's one: Knock knock?"

"Who's there?"

"Yah."

"Yah who?

"Nah, buddy, I prefer Google." She burst out laughing. "Get it? Yahoo. Google."

"Heard that before. Not funny," I reply, biting my inner cheek so that I don't join her in her laughter.

"Damn," she mutters, sighing, "I thought I had you with that one." She shakes her head, clears her throat, and quickly swallows.

As her mouth opens, I imagine all kinds of other things … my fingers, my dick, my nipple … besides the liquid that's slipping down her throat.

"That's fourteen for me." I snicker just so I my mind doesn't go further with my thoughts. "Here's mine: Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Dwayne."

"Dwayne who?"

"Dwayne the bathtub, I'm drowning."

"Heard it before. Not funny," she restates my line with an impish grin on her lips.

I'm glad she's loosened her hair from that restrictive hair tie. I like how her curls frame her face. A few buttons on her jean shirt have come loose and I can see her nude bra. Her glasses are on top of her head, in her hair.

She rubs her hand together as if she's got the one joke that will tie us up … ah, _shit that's not what I meant_. _I mean, I don't even know if she's into the whole bondage scene_ …

"Knock, knock."

Her question jars my inner train of thought from the erotic journey it wanted to go on. Clearing my thoughts, I mumble, "Who's there?"

"Anita."

"Anita who?" I take a sip of my bottled water.

She smirks. "Anita dick inside me!"

The water in my mouth spews onto her shirt, she's laughing, and I'm choking.

_Did she just say she needs a dick inside of her?_ I'm mentally hyperventilating, contemplating my next move. _Fuck it_ … might as well be up front.

"How 'bout mine?" I inquire.

"What?" she whisper-yells, leaning back into the couch.

Scooting closer to her, I finger a few of her long curls, twirling them around my finger. "We both know where we want this to end, Isa, right?"

"Um …" Her tongue slips for her lips, moistening them.

The lust radiating from her body and eyes pullme toward her. I lean in, sniffing … just breathing in her Isa scent; my hand lands on her thigh.

"Truth time. I'll go first. I've been dying to see what's under this," I confess, sliding my hand up over her skirt, "since this afternoon."

"Ah …"

"Come on, you can tell me," I whisper encouragingly.

Her tongue comes out again, but this time she uses it to slowly lick her lip. "I've wanted to see more of this," her hand trails up my forearm then grips my muscled appendage, "since this afternoon."

I pull her over my lap so that she straddles me. Her skirt rides up, exposing her gorgeous thighs and her ass. I run my hand over them, choosing to rest my hands on her ass cheeks. I pluck the thin strip of material that is between her cheeks.

"Isa, if you don't want what's about to happen next, now is the time to speak up."

She pushes my head backward, sucking on my Adam's apple.

_Shit_.

Her hand tugs my shirt over my head. I feel her stare, then hear her audible gasp as she takes in the breadth of my chest. I relax and let her eyes freely roam, something I've never allowed another woman to do.

Right over my heart, a little over four and a half inches in length and three and a half inches in width, is my beauty. Hand drawn to perfection is a three-dimensional, cracked heart mimicking the exact dimensions of the real one that beats below my skin. It took me six months to sketch it perfectly. Thick, red blood flows through it and can be seen through the fractures. The fractures in my heart … in my tattoo … look life-like. One person told me their fear of touching it because it looked as if the broken edges would cut you simply passing your hand over the image.

Her nail traces the edges of a few lines, stopping at each break … and, there are a lot of breaks in this tattooed heart; because, well, there are many breaks in my real one, too.

Next her eyes land on the small, cursive words: 'family means forever'. Running under my right lower pectoral, near my lung, these words remind me to breathe … that I finally have people that will always be there for me. They are the words Ma recited when we all signed the adoption papers. Isa's finger follow along each letter, and I see the questions lurking in her eyes. Her gaze comes back to mine, and I try to hold it together.

Taking up the expanse of my abdominal muscles is the landscape of my hometown, etched in black with razor sharp lines. The Empire State Building, stands in the middle, tall and proud while Lady Liberty is in the forefront, looking regal and protective. In the background, red and orange flames billow from the sides and top of the now fallen Twin Towers. The George Washington Bridge is positioned in front of the buildings, reminding me of the days my family and I drove over the bridge to New Jersey. She touches the metal links and the cement blocks, all shadowed on purpose, and I hear a whispered: "cool". Just two months ago, I added the cherry-colored 1960 Chevy Impala, the first car I restored by myself, that looks like it's going too fast, and is about to cause major havoc. She takes her time looking at all the detail in the motif … my tribute to the city that never sleeps. When I notice the tears that pool in her eyes, I know the tattoo connects us, because it's a testament to our shared pride.

Shifting my position, her eyes slant down to my left hip bone where the sketched replica of my baby, my Beretta PX4 Storm, sits in all its charcoal-colored glory. Finding the right color to match my drawing took months, and it was a bitch to sit through the sessions, but I'm happy with the end result. Strangely, just having this ink here makes me feel proud to be a card-carrying member of the NRA. A groan leaves my lips as I feel the pads of her fingertips trace the contours of the gun and my hip bone.

Thebold look in her eyes, the biting of her lip, and the smirk around her lips goes straight to my cock. I push upward, letting her feel how everything she's doing affects me.

My movement diverts her eyes lower, and they land on my most recent ink. Her head dips down, taking in the words that run eight inches in length from right hip bone near my …

"Holy hell. Is that … do you have suck my …" She swallows and closes her eyes.

Even in the dim light, I see the blush that blossoms instantly on her face as she gets the meaning. I can't take anymore of her slow perusal that leave me harder than I've ever been before.

"Open your eyes."

When she opens them, there's a mixture of a few emotions that I choose not to linger on; instead, I settle on the one that's most familiar and safe: desire.

"Take your shirt off."

She leans away from me, pulling her shirt out of her skirt, and unbuttons it. I still her movements with my hand, holding it in place by putting my hand on hers. With my free hand, I splay it on her upper chest. Her breaths are coming in uneven, and sensuously jiggling her breasts. I run my hand down the crease, keeping my eyes on her. My hand creeps over to her puckered nipple that is visible through the bra. Her eyes close again as soon as my nail grazes the material over her sensitive nipple and she shivers and swallows.

"Isa, open your eyes … watch me."

She does as I command.

Bending my head forward, I latch my lips around the material, wetting her nipple. I hear a moan, but I'm not satisfied, so I move the bra to the side, revealing her to me. The areola is about a quarter-size in diameter and is dark brown. Her nipple extends proudly, begging for my lips to suck on them. Which I do.

"Ah …"

I release her hand and now both my hands are free as I unclasp her bra. The sheer weight and size of her breasts makes me drool.

Lightly pinching the right nipple between my thumb and index finger, I ask, "What size are you?"

"Hmm … oh … ah," She clears her throat. "34C." Her eyes are cloudy with passion.

"Nice." I gently shake both globes, squeezing them together, as I suck on the nipples.

"Um, Mase …"

"I've been longing to do this." I release her breasts, shaking my head side to side between them.

"Mase … I've never … this is my—"

Shushing her with a finger on her mouth, which she takes between her plump lips, "No more talking, only feeling."

I lightly tap her on the butt, indicating for her to stand. She steps back and slips off her shoes, which puts her a foot or so shorter than me. I tower over her, and I like the feeling. Usually, the women I've been with have been closer to my height of six feet four inches. I circle her waist, again, going behind her to unzip her skirt. She wiggles her hips to get the skirt off and then, sheds the shirt and bra.

Grabbing her hand, I walk us to the bedroom.

My hand quickly finds the light switch, choosing the dimmer setting. I walk her over to my California bed and I release her hand. I step back as she sits down then push her backward, until she's lying flat on her back with one knee bent. In her position and from where I am, I can see that her natural body juices have colored the seat of her thong slightly.

My dick twitches.

My filter is non-existent. Things I've never done become a must _now_. "Can I taste you?"

Her head pops up. "Huh?"

"I want to taste you."

Her top teeth bites down on her bottom lip. "Ah … I …"

By the time she's finished speaking, I've already knelt between her thighs. I push her further up the bed, almost near the headboard. My sandals slip off my foot making a loud noise on the hardwood floor.

I'm no saint, and I'm not claiming any virginity status. I've been around the block a few times with countless of faces. But, since the age of fifteen when I first discovered the pleasures found between a woman's legs, there are two things that I _just_ will not … have never considered doing.

I don't kiss on the lips.

And, I don't eat pussy.

Too intimate, too personal; and I don't do personal.

The pussy is for screwing, and always with protection.

So what my tongue is itching to do … what I'm dying to do is so damn foreign, I blubber my way through my request, too afraid to raise the volume of my voice in case she tells me no.

"I've never … but, you … this," I confess, waving to her lower half, "makes me long for my tongue to be deep inside of you."

I'm not sure if it's my desperate words, or she's just that worked up, but as I rub my finger over her thong, she gushes, wetting it.

_Nice_. _She likes it already_ …

Using my finger, I push her underwear to the side, and notice howsmooth she is. Pushing more of the garment to the side, I can inspect further and chuckle at the landing strip design.

"Hold this." I tug her underwear, so she knows what I'm talking about.

As soon as she secures her thong as I want it, I tentatively lick her slit.

It goes straight to my already granite-like length.

A bit sweaty, but her natural scent overshadows that. Encouraged, I use my finger to widen her and am greeted with a lovely shade of pink that's looks mouthwatering, and there's a cute little mole on the inside of her right lip.

Near her clit.

Black.

Round.

So fucking lickable.

_What the hell_?

"You have a mole … inside your …" I can't finish my sentence. What I'm looking at is the single, most erotic thing I've seen in all of my sexual encounters.

And, I've seen a lot of shit.

She has no idea what she is doing to me.

"I …" She squirms. "Please … stop looking."

"Why? It's fucking cute."

But, I don't think she hears me because I'd already latched onto her clit by then.

I had two fingers at her entrance and I tried to put them in but was only able to go nail length.

_Damn, she's tight_.

Switching toonly one, I settle on my middle finger and even then, I was only able to go in a little bit. Concentrating on her clit, I use my other hand to open that part of her body even more. Pulling back slightly, it's like her clit is hidden. I'm determined to suck it out of its hiding place and enjoy myself completely.

I've worked hard to get this.

Two dates, a home cooked meal, and her making me wait for two weeks.

Yeah, I've earned this.

Increasing the suction of my mouth, I put all my efforts on her hidden bud. I'm rewarded by her juice coating my finger, allowing me to push further inward.

"Oh … my … what are you …" she babbles.

The smell of her is intoxicating, her taste is one of a kind, and the way she clenches around my finger is addictive.

_She's loving this as much as I am._

I get into a nice rhythm between me fingering her and sucking on her clit, and she almost bucks me off her but I hold her down by her stomach. I quickly pull my finger out of her, as her head thrashes side to side and my request of holding her underwear to the side forgotten, and spread her lips further apart. Her clit is engorged and I see it's a dusty pink color just like the insides of her pussy lips.

_Shit_.

I close my lips over it, using my tongue to pull it more into my mouth, as I suck harder. A few seconds later, a gush enters my mouth as she yells.

I'm not satisfied.

I need more.

I deserve more.

There has to be more. I want more … inside of my mouth.

I hold her legs apart, and in place, further sucking on her as I ram my finger, knuckle deep, inside her.

_This time, I have to feel how she feels when __she comes_.

I suck her clit like I'm a pro at this when this is my first time. My fingers continue their tender seesaw motion. Her body gives me what I desire … what I'm most intrigued over: her juices coat my lips as she seizes my finger inside of her.

_Fuck me. _Never before have I ever felt so triumphant making a woman come as I am now.

I feel like a king.

The way her legs shakes makes me feel like the motherfucking king of pussy eating … on my first try.

_I'm_ making her body quiver.

_I'm_ making her see stars if the whites in her eyes are an indication.

_I'm_ the one making her unable to catch her breath.

I feel more like myself now.

I slowly pull out of her as I hear her making incoherent noises. I take my time licking my fingers. Looking deep into her eyes, I step out of our last clothing barrier, my shorts. I didn't bothered to put any underwear on when I'd showered earlier.

_I really want to try something else__with her._

"Isa, are you …" In my nervousness, my voice cracks. Instead of revealing the truth, I lie. "I'm out of condoms ..."

She's smart, this isn't her first time … she should know what I'm asking.

She props herself up on bended elbows to look at me. "You're … out … ah ... what?"

"I'm clean. Are you?"

_Please say yes. _

_Please say fucking yes._

"Pill … I've never … yeah, I'm, um … okay …" she squeaks out, muffling the last part of her sentence in the pillow she's thrown over her head.

Dismissing everything she said and honing in on her giving me the green light, I grab my cock.

"I really want to hit it … um, I really want to feel allof you … just you." I ease part of my head into her, pushing the head inside.

"Yeah … ah, yes … just, oh God, slow … go slow," she chokes out, just as I try to move forward some more.

Beads of sweat form on my forehead, despite the central air being on. I push some more. "Fuck, your pussy is tight."

I'm only halfway inside her, and she's choke-holding the hell out of my cock in a very pleasurable way. Leaning on my forearms to keep most of my weight off of her, I see unshed tears in her eyes.

Leaning into her, but keeping the majority of my weight off her, I go for her lips and tenderly kiss her, sucking on her lower lip.Surprisingly, I like kissing her. She tastes like some of the wine from earlier, and like cherries … maybe she'd worn cherry lip-gloss. Angling my head, I deepen our kiss, letting her take the lead.

_This makes it even feel better._

I hear muffled groans; I feel her wetness coating me, making it easier to slide forward. Gripping her thigh, I hike it up, reveling in its smoothness, as her tongue plays with mine. I surge forward, and I go all the way in.

Being inside of her … is like nothing I've ever felt before.

She mumbles something, but I'm not sure what it is because I feel like I'm on sensory overload. Her nails rake down my spine then she palms my ass cheeks, pulling me inside of her additive warmth. She throws back her head, grunting words of encouragement. When she squeezes my cock, locking me inside of her as she comes, it takes _all_ my years of sexual know how, not to come with her … and especially not inside of her.

As her muscles release me, I quickly pull out, coming on her stomach. I roll off her, taking her with me.

_That was good_ … _so fucking good!_

I notice that her curly hair is a little matted on top of her head. I push the few tendrils from her face, kissing her forehead. My hand have a mind of its own, and trails down her back, holding onto one an ass cheek. I lightly tap it, wishing I could see it jiggle.

I plant another kiss on her head as the feeling of contentment spreads from my toes to my … well, it's just fucking spreading.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Biting the bullet, I realize I'm sweating just thinking the thoughts that I'm about to reveal. "Isa … I want to …" _Get a coherent thought, Mase_. "I know you're going away, but Poughkeepsie is only an hour or so away. I could … we could … you know, if you want to do that. Would you … um, want to?"

_Please say yes. _

_Please say __fucking yes. 'Cause I want more of this… more of you and this body_

Light snores greet me as I turn my face toward her and see she's sleeping.

Curving her to my side, I feel really contented.

Usually, I'm the first one dressed and half way out ofthe door right after I've gotten what I wanted. But, Isa makes me want to burrow further into her … in her presence.

We'll talk in the morning.

∞∞∞Falling∞∞∞

**Early the next morning …**

Groaning, I rub my face, then scratch my chest, palming my dick—all part of my morning ritual.

I run my hand to my right to pull Isa to me, but hit only a cold spot.

_Huh?_

Picking my head up, I open an eye in her direction. "Isa?"

No warm body.

I'm wide awake now.

_Maybe she's in the bathroom._

I glance at the clock on my nightstand, seeing it reads 6:00am. I yell her name.

If she's in the bathroom, she'll definitely hear that. But, I hear no response.

Heart in my throat, I speed out of the bedroom, heading into the living room.

Her clothes are gone.

On the table, in front of the fireplace, something yellow catches my attention. Going closer, I see she's spelled out thank you on eight pieces of sticky note papers using a smiley face for the 'o'.

_What the fuck?_

Who leaves a thank you on a sticky?

If it wasn't happening to me, this would totally be a move I'd pull after a one night stand.

In the harsh light of the early morning, I look down and see blood on my dick.

She leaves me leaves me with a bloody dick and a smiley face thank you.

_Who does that?_

My hand clutches my heart, and I wonder what the hell just happened.

She's gone … andI have no idea how she mind fucked me so easily.


End file.
